


Catharsis

by Fylgia



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: BDSM Scene, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-04
Updated: 2016-01-04
Packaged: 2018-05-11 17:45:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5636089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fylgia/pseuds/Fylgia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ellana needs a break, a chance to forget all of her responsibilities, even if it is just for a moment. Bull is happy to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Catharsis

The room was colder than Ellana remembered, a draft carried with it the crisp scent of autumn and the hairs at the back of her neck rose in response. She blinked despite knowing better, the golden light refusing to solidify any shapes and instead appearing only as wisps. The fabric of the blindfold pushed against her eyelashes as she once again closed her eyes. Perhaps it had been foolish to agree. To put herself in a situation so far removed from everything the Herald of Andraste was meant to be. Vivienne’s words haunted her as she rested her head against her forearm. This was hardly an image that would instil confidence or awe in anyone who saw her. The Inquisitor herself, clinging to a ladder in her own chambers, blindfolded and bare before a Ben-Hassarath spy. A warm hand was pressed between her shoulder blades, impossibly and absurdly gentle. 

“Your shoulders tense when you worry, boss.” Bull said and she could almost hear the crooked smile form on his lips. “There’s no cause for that tonight. Not in here.”

She almost replied, almost deflected his words with a sarcastic retort. Yet there was no use in trying to hide what he’d already noticed. There had been whispers in the Great Hall earlier that night, rumours that came far too close to the truth for comfort. A raven had reached Skyhold early that morning, one last note from her Keeper written in an unsteady hand. How that information had escaped the War Room was something she preferred not to think about.

“Elves have thin skin” He remarked as his hands began pressing against her back, examining every muscle. “Blunt rather than sharp then.”

Her hands clutched at the ladder, the wood creaking softly in protest. Another chill traveled down her spine and not even she could blame it on the draft. The Qunari hummed softly behind her, the same sound he made when testing a new sword. The warmth of his hands left her back and she heard him move behind her. A few moments later he reappeared by her side.

“Tell me the word” He said as something touched her back. Leather. “Show me you remember.”  

“Katoh” Her voice sounded more like the girl who’d accidentally set the clan’s stocked spindleweed on fire than the woman meant to defeat a would be god.

“Good” His laughter was soft against her ear. “Let us get to work then.”

 

The first strike was more startling than painful, the weight of the whip coming down on her skin without force. The muscles in her back twitched and to her great shame, she gasped in surprise. His chuckle felt surprisingly comforting and she nodded. It was a bit late to worry about her dignity.  
The second was similar to the first, landing just below her shoulder blade. As more strikes followed, the cold melted from her skin and a pleasant heat began to spread.

“You all right, boss?” There was no concern in his question, the same tone he used when greeting her in the tavern. 

She nodded again, still not trusting her voice. Another hum from him, encouraging.

The strikes changed in nature, she could feel the force in them build. It felt surprisingly similar to taking a hit to her barrier. It pushed the air from her lungs but never threatened to topple her. There was a certain comfort in the slow but steady rhythm. Then it changed, each strike landing on a piece of previously untouched skin. She felt the pain push aside the wordings of that note, heard the words muddle in her mind. Soon all she could think of was where the next blow would land, the burning sensation on her back, and the creaking wood beneath her hands.

She lost track of time, she could no longer number the strikes, nor could she remember how many times Bull had changed tools. Her skin sang, a hum similar to how elfroot potions seemed to vibrate as they knitted broken skin and bones back together. It was not until she tasted her own tears that she realised she had been crying. She was not sure how or what she felt, just that she was more at peace in this moment than she had been since she had left for the conclave. She shifted her hips, arching into the blows. Her smallclothes were damp and she could not tell if it was due to sweat or arousal. She was not even certain that she was aroused. Her body seemed to have a life on its own and she could barely sense the stone floor beneath her feet, it was as if she had been drugged.

“These will be the last ten. Count them.”

She twitched, both in response to the unexpected sound of Bull’s voice but also in disappointment that this would soon be over. Between each of the last ten strikes, Bull waited for her to speak before he rewarder her with another. She felt empty when she counted off the last of them, the song in her veins no longer more than an echo.


End file.
